


Keep On Keeping On

by starstruck1986



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-22 05:56:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6067693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starstruck1986/pseuds/starstruck1986
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry can't believe he missed it. Ron's just relieved that it gave him a reason to air his feelings after long enough in the dark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep On Keeping On

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Angst, language, anal sex, rough sex, themes of possession and claiming.
> 
> Written for the 2016 hprare_cliche fest.

**Harry**  
  
He wasn't squeamish, but the amount of blood which poured out of the steak Ron sat opposite him eating was excessive. It was slowly spreading across the plate, flooding around the chips and onto the salad.  
  
“I thought you were hungry?” Ron asked thickly, mouth full of beef, gesturing to Harry's untouched plate with his steak knife.  
“I am. I'm just... a bit concerned that your dinner might get up and start moo'ing again.”  
  
Ron's eyes flicked down to his plate and Harry saw his jaw tighten.  
  
“I just like my meat rare these days. It's Fleur's fault.” He sawed off another piece and shoved it in his mouth. “She got me on to it.”  
  
Harry considered opening his mouth and questioning it. But he remained silent and his lips stayed together, because he highly doubted that Ron would share what was bothering him in the middle of a restaurant when he'd had ample opportunity to do it elsewhere.  
  
Something definitely _was_ wrong, though. Harry had never seen his best friend so tired and excessively skinny. Ron had always been thin, but there was a new sharpness to his cheekbones and, in the changing room after a raid the week before, Harry thought his collarbones were protruding like never before.  
  
He couldn't put his finger on it, but he'd seen that ragged, bone-tired look somewhere before.  
  
Finally Harry turned his attention to his own food and busied himself with the task of devouring it. He hadn't been wrong – he was starving and work had been so manic that he had missed lunch. Opposite him Ron continued to eat his nearly live cow without much restraint. He had smears of grease around his lips and a fleck of ketchup on his cheek.  
  
“Fuck's sake, what now?!” Ron cried. “Is there a reason you're staring at me?”  
  
_Because I love you._  
  
“You've got food on your face,” Harry said, aiming for nonchalant but only hearing tightness in his voice.  
  
Ron simply shrugged and carried on. “I'll get it off when I'm done.”  
  
They chewed on in silence for several minutes. Around them a normal Friday night in London was getting into swing. The summer had driven the crowds out onto the pavements, filling the streets with laughter and chatter and cigarette smoke. They themselves were sitting by the fold-back restaurant frontage under a canopy.  
  
“No moon tonight.” Harry mentally kicked himself – he and Ron were not the types to sit and natter pointlessly.  
“Yeah.”  
  
Ron sped up his pace. Harry couldn't help but watch him. His fringe was falling into his eyes.  
  
He'd spent far too much time watching Ron and he was sure that people were starting to notice. He'd caught a few of the Weasleys giving him strange glances.  
  
There was a loud clatter as Ron chucked his knife and fork on his plate; the next thing Harry knew Ron was gulping his way through his pint of water.  
  
“That's better,” he gasped, dragging the back of his hand over his lips. “Fuck me, that was good.”  
  
He slumped back in his seat and, much to Harry's irritation, he suddenly winced and sprang back upright again.  
  
“You should get that looked at,” he said quietly. “It's been hurting you for ages.”  
“Ah it'll be fine, Harry. Don't worry.”  
“I'm serious – you get hit there during work you'll go down like a stack of bricks.”  
“Then I'll just have to make sure I don't get hit, won't I?” Ron's smiled was forced and authoritative: the subject of his mystery wound was clearly not up for discussion.  
  
Harry sighed and carried on with his own food. On the road metres from where they sat, a police car went streaming past, lights flashing but without the sirens. Harry was glad – he had a pounding headache. He was just about to reach for his drink when he felt a strong vibration from his pocket. There was a loud bang as Ron's knees hit the underside of the table in surprise.  
  
“Work,” Ron muttered, pulling the charmed fob out of his pocket. “Yours too?”  
“Yeah, four sharp bursts. Level 5.”  
  
Harry left enough money on the table to cover their meals and a tip and walked to the pavement. Ron squinted at the tiny fob, trying to read the details, and Harry watched him, wondering if his friend would ever go for an eye test.  
  
_Ron in glasses. Oh fuck._  
  
“Incident at Liverpool Street Station,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Shit, can you hear all those sirens?”  
  
Now that he mentioned it, Harry did hear them. It seemed like the entire city had come to life with screaming vehicles.  
  
“Let's go,” he said, feeling for his wand even though he knew where it was – where it had always been.  
  
They hurried towards the other end of the road which was quieter and had a secluded alleyway from which they could apparate.  
  
“Where are we aiming for, d'you think?” Harry asked.  
  
The alley was narrow and they stood chest-to-chest to speak. Suddenly there seemed to be very little air and Harry felt his face get hot. Their bodies were nearly touching. His throat went dry.  
  
“You all right?” Ron asked, brow creased with concern. “You look a bit funny.”  
“Funny haha or funny weird?”  
“Bit of both if I'm honest.”  
“Thanks, mate. Thanks.”  
  
Ron shot him a rueful smile and, in a flash had wrapped his hands around both of Harry's wrists and they were flying.  
  
Harry's heart sped up feeling Ron's thumbs pressing into the pulse points on his wrist.  
  
**Ron**  
  
_Chaos. Total fucking chaos._ It was of a scale that they'd not seen since the War. The difference was that Ron could now smell every single bleeding wound within sight and hear every sob and he was nearly crippled by the sensory overload.  
  
He took a moment to try and catch his breath by kneeling down and collecting up some Muggle medical supplies which had been abandoned. The hole in his side started screaming in protest and he winced. He knew when he got home that night and peeled his robes off, he'd find blood.  
  
Around him the scene was starting to quieten. The perpetrator had been detained and was in custody. The Muggles involved were in the process of having their memories wiped and the rest of the team dispatched to the area from the Ministry were hastily ensuring the media reported the right story (given the hole in the street, they were going for exploding gas main again.)  
  
Ron wondered what would happen if they were given the truth – that some desperate, angry supporter of the Dark Lord had decided to take out a few Muggles in the name of his own depleted cause.  
  
Though it wasn't surprising, Ron was disheartened that the attacks were still happening nearly ten years on from the war. Every time they succeeded their maximum time without, a few weeks later, without fail, there'd be another. Dead Muggles, blood on the concrete, another few dead bodies to add to the tally of those seen.  
  
Swallowing, Ron got back to his feet and clenched his jaw as pain spiked everywhere. No matter what he did, he couldn't get the bite wound to heal. It had been there for two months and had only closed a little.  
  
Harry had been right when he'd said it – one blow in the wrong place and he'd go down like a ton of bricks. And Ron couldn't have that. He hadn't told anybody about what had happened. That was reckless and dangerous and he knew it but he somehow couldn't find the words. It hadn't even been his fault. He'd been careful, but the reality was that when he was hunting vampires he'd been attacked by a werewolf – and now he was one too.  
  
It had been hell to try and hide his first transformation. According to the books – and he had been loathe to 'do a Hermione' and immerse himself in literature, but he'd given in out of desperation – the first was always terrible. And it had been. He had never wanted to die before, but when his skin had started to crawl and his veins seemed to erupt in flame, he would have killed himself if he'd had the presence of mind to do it.  
  
He felt selfish for it, but he never wished more that Remus Lupin had lived through the Battle of Hogwarts. He would have gone to him instantly. A ready-made mentor just there, waiting. And Remus Lupin would have given him the truth, the reality, perhaps he might even have held him through the sobbing which crept up on him at random times and grabbed him round the throat.  
  
_Anyone. Anyone at those moments would be good._  
  
Ron held his breath and let his eyes seek Harry in the thinning crowd. It only took him a few seconds. There he was, kneeling down, a gentle smile on his face as he gave a polystyrene cup of tea to a young woman sitting on the curb wrapped in a blanket. Immediately Ron felt a warm sensation in his chest; it was something that happened more and more as he looked at his best friend.  
  
He knew why and it was something that predated his bite.  
  
_By about five years._  
  
He didn't remember exactly when he started to really look at Harry. When he noticed the premature lines on his face, or when he picked out a grey thread of hair behind Harry's ear, bold as brass amongst the messy black. He had found several more since but they kept disappearing. On his weaker days, he allowed himself to imagine stroking them before Harry could spell them away.  
  
On his _really_ bad days, he imagined Harry holding him instead, stroking _his_ hair, kissing him and telling him that he loved him.  
  
Ron was alarmed to feel damp heat in his eyes. _Not here. Not now._  
  
His emotions were all over the shot. One minute he could be fuming and the next laughing his head off. Crying was something he'd never really done a lot of in the past, but the last few months had brought him to the brink.  
  
He wasn't sure how he was still upright. Still managing to carry on carrying on. He suddenly felt very dizzy and weak. He wanted to throw up. He was just glad that there was no moon above to make him feel even worse.  
  
It was bad enough without it.  
  
It was only when a distant laugh cut through his funk that Ron realised the world was tilting slightly. He straightened and blinked several times, trying to clear his vision. When he managed it he saw Harry sitting next to the pretty woman on the curb, where she was laughing shakily at something he had said.  
  
Anger made Ron clench his fingers into painful fists. He heard his knuckles crack and felt shooting pains in his wrists.  
  
That was something else that he was struggling to come to terms with – since he'd been bitten he had grown increasingly possessive. He had been pining for Harry beforehand but it was simply on another level since the accident. All anyone had to do was speak to Harry to infuriate him. The simpering girl would push him into a full-on rage if he allowed himself to stand there and watch them for much longer.  
  
“Weasley, are you all right?” Ron looked to his right and only then realised his chest was heaving.  
“I'm fine,” he lied. “Just... you never get used to seeing this, do you? Cleaning their blood off the cobbles...”  
  
His colleague shook his head in agreement. “You looked knackered, Weasley. I reckon you could nip off home now and nobody would be any the wiser.”  
  
Normally, Ron wouldn't dream of leaving the scene before the job was done. It was common for he and Harry to be the last ones to leave. But Harry was occupied and Ron felt like the proverbial.  
  
“I think I might.” Even he could hear how faint his voice was as he said it.  
“Are you sure you're all right?” Real concern in his colleague's voice made Ron square his shoulders.  
“Yeah. I just... one too many today, I think. It's got to me.”  
  
The wizard nodded and clapped him on the shoulder as he passed. Reeling with pain, Ron breathed hard and fast through an open mouth to try and allay the pain.  
  
  
  
By the time he was home with the door locked, Ron had let his face give in to the pain and he was grimacing and groaning to himself. His fingers shook as he pulled off first his jumper and then his t-shirt. Luckily they'd been in Muggle clothes when they were out for dinner.  
  
The steak seemed a lifetime ago. Everything ached. He stood in front of the mirror and surveyed the damage. The dressing on his side was completely soaked through with blood and his fingers shook harder as he took one corner and began to peel it off. The stench of churned flesh, copper and antiseptic ointment filled his nostrils. He retched.  
  
“Just. Fucking. Heal!” he ground out angrily.  
  
The very sight of the wound made him want to scream. It just wasn't _fucking_ fair.  
  
Narrowing his eyes, Ron reached down and gently touched his fingertips to the centre of the bite. The pain was blinding. He increased the pressure. White sparks exploded at the edges of his vision. He jabbed hard and abruptly, and if anything the darkness was a relief.  
  
**Harry**  
  
“Ron?” Harry pounded on the door with his fist. His arm was aching. “Ron!”  
  
He knew that Ron had left the incident before they had sent the last Muggle off, which was unlike him. But he'd been too shattered and filthy to chase him then, so Harry had dragged himself home, into the shower and then into a sleep of the dead for eight hours. On waking he'd sent Ron a Patronus, then tried to Firecall, then sent another Patronus. He'd eaten a highly nutritious meal consisting of a bowl of Coco Pops – a throw back to his days with the Dursleys as a child – and a coffee strong enough to knock his head off.  
  
When Ron hadn't responded he'd dressed and headed over. He'd stopped to get the both of them their favourite cakes from the patisserie not far from the entrance to Diagon Alley near Charing Cross, then made his way into magical London. Ron lived in some residential buildings set back from Diagon Alley that none of them had ever paid any attention to as kids. Magically enlarged inside, there was a great deal of accommodation in a small space. Ron's was one of the bigger ones right at the top of the building with sloping ceilings and huge windows.  
  
Harry had hoped they might get to spend the day together, maybe listening to the Quidditch on the radio or just being in one another's company.  
  
“RON!” He hollered through the door. “Let me in, mate? I know you're in there.” He didn't, but he shouted it anyway.  
  
With a huff he dropped his hand and exhaled frustratedly. As a last ditch attempt he pressed his fingers to the wood, not really expecting anything to happen. He nearly dropped the cakes when he heard the lock click and the door opened. He let himself in and gently closed the door behind him.  
  
“Ron, where the bloody hell are you? If you've taken too much of that sleeping draught again I'm telling Molly. Let her kick your arse for a change.” He set the cakes on a side table and looked around.  
  
All of the candles were lit and the flat was warm. Something smelled odd but Harry couldn't place it.  
  
“I was thinking we could hang out today – maybe we could look at that holiday you were talking about – Ron!”  
  
Harry didn't know what to do first. Ron was on the floor with the most vicious wound in his side that Harry had seen for some time – and in their line of work, that was saying something. It looked infected. Ron's face was flushed and he was muttering under his breath. His eyelids were fluttering.  
  
“Oh God...” Harry muttered into his hand.  
  
He knew without being told what had happened to Ron. It explained so much of his odd behaviour over the past few months that Harry felt an idiot for not guessing it sooner.  
  
“Hermione would have guessed it,” he said, feeling ashamed of himself. “If she wasn't buried in her office.”  
“'Arry?” Ron's whisper was faint and broken. “You?”  
“Me,” Harry said softly. He knelt down by Ron's side. “Ron, you silly, silly bastard. Why didn't you tell me?”  
  
Ron slipped out of consciousness again and Harry put his hands into his hair and yanked on it out of fear. His immediate thought was to get Ron to the hospital, but given what had happened to him he quickly thought better of that. Hermione had made waves in introducing legislation to protect those less fortunate in their society, but he wasn't prepared to test them when it was _Ron's_ life in the balance. He got back up and pulled out his wand. With a shaking hand he levitated Ron onto his bed – which was for once made.  
  
He held his breath and put his face close to the bite. It was definitely infected and the red streaks leading away from the deepest points were concerning.  
  
_Molly? Do I get Molly? He'll fucking kill me._  
  
Harry put his hand over his mouth and considered his options. Both George and Bill were nearby. Bill had survived a fight with Fenrir Greyback.  
  
He moaned aloud when he remembered something about Bill liking his meat on the rare side after the attack. He wondered how he could have been so blind. He should have known Ron hadn't decided to take a holiday two months running at the same time – Ron never went on holiday on his own. Ron loved to be with people. _He loves being loved._  
  
A lump appeared in his throat and it wouldn't be swallowed away.  
  
***  
  
“When he wakes up, I'm going to knock him six ways to Sunday,” Bill declared furiously, shaking his head. He dried his hands on the towel Harry had brought him. “What's he playing at, keeping something like this a secret? He could lose his job.”  
“Or, you know, his life,” George added casually, from where he sat gently smoothing a dressing over Ron's side.  
  
They had swept in full of questions just minutes after Harry's summons by Patronus. He'd lost the ability to speak and simply showed them the state Ron was in. Between them they'd managed to treat the wound – George had fetched a healing kit he kept in the shop at a run; Bill had rolled the sleeves of his work robes back and started cleaning out the bite. Harry had been left to pace away the threads of Ron's bedroom carpet and make cups of tea.  
  
The tea was poor and he wasn't much better.  
  
“What do we do now?” He looked from brother to brother, who then looked at one another before turning to stare at Ron again.  
“We wait until he comes round,” George said decisively. “There's no point making decisions or grand ideas until he can tell us all to fuck off.”  
“But what if-”  
“Harry. Calm down. I know this is difficult but what Ron is going to need when he wakes up is assurance that we're there for him, not that we've worked ourselves up into a state because of what happened.”  
  
  
Chastened, Harry turned to look out of the window with his entire face burning.  
  
He liked Bill, he really did, but there was no shying away from the fact he'd once been a Head Boy. Coolly dressed or not, he had the ability to make Harry feel like an errant eleven-year-old out of bounds.  
  
Harry jumped when a gentle hand squeezed his shoulder. It was Bill, wearing an apologetic smile. And another look that Harry didn't want to acknowledge – the sort of look which said _'I know why this is so hard, and I'm sorry it's like this.'_  
  
“Who else do we tell?”  
“Nobody if we can get away with it, not till he's stronger and can make a decision on his own. He might want to go public.”  
“He can't... he'll never work again,” Harry muttered.  
“Apparently the world we live in is better these days.” George made a face. “Maybe it won't be as bad as we think it will.”  
“I can't... he's kept it quiet. He must have had at least one change by now. And he didn't tell anyone. He just did it by himself.” Harry shook his head. “Not sure I can forgive myself for that.”  
  
Neither Bill nor George had anything to say to that. Harry tried swallowing away the lump in his throat again.  
  
“I need to get back to the shop, if only to properly close down for the day.” George rubbed his hands on his robes and stood up. “I'll be back later. Let me know if there's any update or you need anything or-”  
“Just go, I've got this,” Bill said. “I'll let you know the second he wakes up.”  
  
With a nod to Harry, George ducked out of the bedroom. They heard him leave via the front door. Harry sank down into his vacated seat. He stayed silent as Bill moved around the room, collecting up the bowl of water they'd been using to clean the bite and the empty potions vials.  
  
When he came back empty-handed Harry didn't look at him.  
  
“I'm going to message Fleur. I was meant to be leaving work early today anyway... hospital appointment.”  
“You should go.” Harry kept his eyes on Ron.  
“No, it's fine... I mean, it's...”  
“Bill. Go. He's stable, his temperature has come down again. The bite already looks better. I'll be fine with him and really... I think it should be me.”  
  
He finally looked up and saw Bill's look of pity directed at his brother.  
  
“Aye. Maybe you're right. Sure you'll be okay?”  
“Nope.” Harry sighed and started chewing on his thumbnail.  
“Harry – I know that it seems-”  
“I'm fine.” Harry knew he was being rude, but he really didn't want to talk about it with anyone other than Ron. “Just... get off to Fleur. Is everything all right?”  
“Yeah, actually... it's great. She's pregnant.”  
  
Harry didn't have any great emotional response to that except to feel even more numb than he already did.  
  
“I'm just a message away, Harry. You're not alone in this either.”  
  
He heard Bill leave the flat and only then tossed his glasses away and buried his face in his hands.  
  
**Ron**  
  
_Fuck it._  
  
Even though he hadn't opened his eyes, Ron knew something had changed. His entire body ached and his head was pounding, but the stinging pain in his side which had become a constant since he was bitten was much reduced. He was warm.  
  
The last thing he remembered was being freezing cold and desperate to move but not having the energy. The way he currently felt was a distinct improvement.  
  
“Ron?”  
“Mm?”  
“You awake?”  
“Nnnnngh.”  
“Thank god.”  
  
Ron made his brain hurt by frowning when warm lips kissed his forehead and fingers cupped his face.  
  
When he managed to open his eyes, he saw Harry looking down at him looking like all hell.  
  
“Harry?” he croaked uncertainly. “What... doin'?”  
“I found you on the floor. Were you ever going to tell me what happened?”  
  
_Fuck. Yeah. Werewolf. Shit._  
  
Ron tried to speak but found his mouth glued together. It was a relief when Harry pressed a glass to his bottom lip and helped him to drink. After a few gulped mouthfuls, he tried to sit up properly; again, Harry aided him and stuffed pillows behind his back.  
  
He couldn't deny that it was _nice_ to be looked after. He clearly wasn't quite right as the entire room had soft focus and started to swim every now and then.  
  
“That'll be the draught for the pain,” Harry supplied helpfully. “We dosed you up to the eyeballs so you're probably right off your trolley. Enjoy it. It won't last.”  
“We?” Ron asked.  
“Bill and George have been helping me... I didn't know what to do, I didn't think the hospital was a clever idea and that you'd kill me if I brought your mum into this.”  
“You know me so well.” Ron sagged back against his pillows and shivered.  
  
“I thought I did,” Harry said. “But you managed to keep this from me. Is there anything else?”  
“Other than the fact I'm in love with you?” Ron couldn't help it. He just blurted it. It had to be the painkillers.  
“Do you mean that?”  
  
Harry looked afraid. Ron never wanted to make him look like that again.  
  
“For... for a while now. I didn't know how to say it.”  
“So you waited until you were high on drugs and an invalid?”  
  
Ron tried to shrug but the muscles in his neck and across his shoulders burst into spasm and he cried out in pain.  
  
“Hey, hey... it's okay, Ron...” Harry was there in an instant, gently rubbing with his fingertips. “Just relax. It's okay. It's all going to be okay, Ron.”  
  
Ron rasped through the pain and the lump which had returned to his throat at the fact that Harry cared.  
  
“Do you love me too?” He whispered, knowing he would regret how pathetic he sounded when he came down from his high.  
  
Harry stopped massaging to pull back and look at him, his feelings perfectly clear on his face. Ron sucked in a harsh breath and didn't release it as Harry engulfed him in an embrace – the sort of hug he'd been craving for months.  
  
“When did it happen?” Harry's voice was close to his ear, hot and ticklish as he spoke.  
“Two months... that night I got sent on assignment to look for that suspected Vampire coven. It... it wasn't vampires, obviously.”  
“Did you report it?”  
  
Ron knew his silence spoke more than he could.  
  
“Then the person that did this to you is still out there. They could have done this to other people since. Ron.”  
“I was scared!” Ron burst out. “Wouldn't you have been? I dragged myself home and collapsed on the floor and what could I do?” Harry started to respond. “I know, I know I should have reported it afterwards but I was in shock and somehow, it just seemed like something I needed to hide rather than to announce. I know I did the wrong thing and it's been eating me up inside... but if I couldn't bring myself to tell the people I love, I couldn't stagger into the Ministry and put myself on the Register.”  
  
He blinked away tears and sought Harry's face, hoping to find understanding there.  
  
“I... I don't know what I would have done in your shoes,” Harry admitted. “But now...”  
“Now we have to do something about it, I know. It'll be a relief. It already is, because you're here.”  
  
Even lifting his arm hurt and took too much energy, but the urge to touch overcame him. He tucked some of Harry's hair behind his ear. He touched his thumb to the tip of his nose before finally letting his hand fall.  
  
Harry caught it before it hit the bed and raised it to his lips. The room blurred substantially.  
  
“What are we going to do?” Ron knew he was barely audible, but Harry didn't miss a word.  
“Firstly, we're going to get you better. And then we'll decide what we do next. We don't have to shout it out to anybody you don't want to tell just yet. We're going to focus on you.”  
  
Ron nodded. He wouldn't lie – it felt like a massive weight had been lifted from his shoulders.  
  
“Are you hungry?” Harry asked, reversing the action and brushing Ron's fringe off his brow. “I can make something.”  
“I don't want anything.” Ron shook his head. “Just... stay with me?”  
  
He did his best to keep it together when Harry stood up, shrugged out of his jeans and rounded the bed. He got in on Ron's good side – the side without the gaping hole – and sat close to him.  
  
“C'mere.”  
  
Ron went willingly. He exhaled as Harry settled around him, with one hand in his hair and the other holding Ron as tightly as he dared. It was probably the drugs, he guessed, but it just felt like sinking into a hot bath. Harry was all around – touching him, the smell of him in the air, the taste of him, even. Ron winced. He wasn't looking forward to explaining _that_.  
  
Harry kissed the top of his head.  
  
“Are you trying to finish me off?” he asked weakly. “I mean...”  
“You're not going anywhere,” Harry responded, his tone stern. “Not now we've...”  
“I know. I know.”  
  
Even though it hurt, Ron _had_ to do it. He turned slightly in Harry's arms and sought out a proper kiss. It was tentative and tender and, given the brutality of the last few months, it was perfect.  
  
Pain in his neck and back made him pull away before he wanted to. He broke into a juddering yawn which set his muscles off again.  
  
Harry tightened his grip around his torso and pulled him closer.  
  
“Sleep, Ron. We'll... we'll do that again when you're not off your face. I promise.”  
  
***  
  
He had never felt as weak as he had over the past few days. Ron remembered looking at Remus Lupin with sheer teenage obnoxiousness – how could a man look _that_ ill, and be _so_ affected? Now he understood every wince and every tortured look. He felt one step away from dead.  
  
Once the painkillers had cleared out of his system, once the fear and reality of what had happened had set in, it had all gone tumbling downhill.  
  
The night before he'd been a mess, begging Harry to leave him for his own good. There was no need for Harry to fall with him. He just wanted him to be safe, and happy, and he saw Harry being neither living with him or in love with him.  
  
But Harry seemed content not to go anywhere. He was there with endless cups of tea and love. All he appeared to want was Ron's full return to health and to make him feel cherished. Ron already felt like a failure that he knew he would _never_ fully return to health and would likely even die younger than the man he loved for his curse.  
  
His fingers started to tremble and Ron clenched them in a fist. His bones ached in retaliation.  
  
“Fuck's sake,” he hissed in frustration.  
  
With a moan he sat down on the bed and tried to remember if he'd ever felt as tired before. It was gnawing on his bones. He wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep but they'd agreed they'd go and tell his family. Together.  
  
“Ron?” Harry shouted for him. “Are you ready?”  
  
He couldn't answer. It seemed like too much effort. He knew that if he stayed silent long enough Harry would look for him. There were footsteps and then there he was, pure sunshine, the only person that Ron wanted to see.  
  
He might be dog tired, feeling the worst he had ever felt, but Ron also knew he had never been _so_ in love before. So besotted with one person. He just wanted to touch Harry, to run his fingers through that dark mess of hair and look into _those_ eyes. He knew why Severus Snape had fallen in love with them. They were beguiling.  
  
“Ron?”  
“Mm?”  
“We're not going,” Harry said decisively. “You look awful.”  
“Thank god.”  
  
Once upon a time, Ron might have argued and forced himself through the visit. But Harry had made that decision for him and he was happy to let the control go. He didn't want to go and tell his family that he was a Werewolf. He didn't want to see the pity in their eyes.  
  
He'd begged Harry not to pity him. Harry had promised, perhaps idiotically, that he never would but Ron loved him for it.  
  
**Harry**  
  
It was slow torture, watching Ron delve deeper into exhaustion.  
  
Yet despite it, there was something light in Harry's being which refused to be quashed. They'd lived in each other's pockets since the day that Harry had found Ron on the floor and he'd never felt happier.  
  
Each passing day they seemed to stray nearer and nearer to crossing the final boundary, but either Ron became tired or one of them lost control before they could go any further. Ron was drained so easily that there was no chance of carrying on after that. Harry found that frustrating enough to burn his blood, but he was patient. He had to be, because there was no way he was going to rush it and potentially ruin everything.  
  
_But if something doesn't give soon, I'm going to lose my shit._  
  
He chuckled to himself as he made two cups of tea. All he seemed to do was make tea, but Ron never complained and always looked like Harry had given him the world when he handed over another steaming mug.  
  
It was painful to watch Ron so grateful for love. It was as if at any moment he was expecting Harry to laugh in his face and say it had all been a massive joke. That he was leaving.  
  
Even just thinking about it made Harry go cold. They'd finally gone and told the rest of the Weasleys what had happened. Molly had sobbed and Arthur had given them a rare display of incandescent rage, but when everyone had calmed down they were very supportive and loving. Harry expected nothing else from them – his disappointment would have been paramount had they reacted in any other way.  
  
Ron was just relieved they hadn't disowned him.  
  
And then there had been Hermione, who'd assessed them both with a shrewd look at immediately saw what Ron's family had missed and Harry and Ron had omitted from their tale of recent events. She'd been in floods of tears and strangled both of them in an awkward, three person hug. Then she'd wiped her face dry, downed a stiff shot of vodka and promised Ron that she'd get started on the Wolfsbane potion straight away, and then practically pinned him to the sofa whilst she examined his bite wound.  
  
_”Honestly, don't either of you two read? You need to apply a mixture of powdered silver and Ditany to seal a werewolf bite! It's a wonder you're still alive, Ron!”_  
  
Her scolding had gone on for quite some time. Ron had given him a desperate look, as if to ask when Harry planned on rescuing him from the ear bashing. Harry had been too busy beating himself up that he hadn't remembered about how to seal a wound.  
  
“And you call yourself an Auror,” he muttered ruefully. He picked up the mugs and headed up the stairs from Grimmauld's kitchen to the homeliest of the parlours on the ground floor.  
  
Nobody really understood why he'd opted to stay in Grimmauld Place after the war. But there had been a certain soothing quality to renovating the house – to purging the darkness. It felt right to spend his time in the house where Sirius had grown up. Where he had so many teenage memories.  
  
And now it felt right for Ron to have moved in with him.  
  
“What're you doing?” he asked as he kicked the door shut behind him with his foot. “Be careful, you'll open that hole up again.”  
  
He set Ron's tea down on the arm of the sofa and moved past to sit down himself.  
  
“Just working on the plan for my cage,” Ron said quietly. “I was thinking about stringing fairy light around the bars.”  
“Don't be a knob. It's not a cage. It's somewhere for you to transform safely.”  
“All right then, not a cage... padded cell?”  
“You're wolfy, not psychotic.”  
“It's a bloody miracle I'm not, to be honest.”  
  
Harry snorted and blew on his tea. They both should have been at work, given that it was the middle of a Thursday afternoon. He winced remembering the conversation with Kingsley. He himself had been very supportive, particularly as he had been a good friend of Remus', but the rest of the department had not been as understanding. As the deputy head of the Auror Department, Harry had curried enough favour to simply have Ron put on gardening leave for a few months and for a review to take place later in the year. And because he was the Deputy Head, nobody argued when he put in for an unpaid leave of absence either.  
  
He didn't need the money. His parents had left him enough and his own war reparations made him a very wealthy man. And with several years of salaries saved in his bank account, there was nothing to stop him from taking the time from being with Ron, or to make extensive plans for modification to keep Ron safe and comfortable at Grimmauld Place.  
  
Ron was sketching the outline of the room they'd decided to carve into the foundations with magic.  
  
“In all seriousness, do you think padded walls would help?” Ron asked. He picked up his own tea and sipped at it. “Ugh, Harry, stop using the same spoon to stir my tea after you've stirred yours. I can taste the sugar.” He made a gagging noise.  
  
Harry ignored him and drank from his cup. Ron's heightened senses were a challenge, not only because it meant he insisted on taking the bin out at least three times a day to get rid of the smell of decay.  
  
“Sorry.” Ron moaned. “But I honestly can taste it.”  
  
_Like you said you could taste me._  
  
The memory of Ron sucking him off reared out of nowhere and Harry suddenly felt very hot and bothered.  
  
“But thank you for the cup of tea,” Ron added quickly, as if someone had just injected him with manners. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't moan.”  
“I should remember.”  
“You can't remember everything Harry, don't be bloody stupid. So what if I can taste a bit of sugar? Not the end of the world. Now, if you'd stirred it with a teaspoon that had been in coffee... then we'd be looking at divorce.”  
“We're not married, you can't divorce me,” Harry pointed.  
  
Ron looked at him then and smiled. “No. Guess we're not. But...”  
  
They stared at one another for a bit before Harry got nervous and looked away. He could still feel Ron's eyes staring at him.  
  
“When do you want to get a move on with the cellar then?” he asked finally, when he knew he really should speak but didn't want to talk about the subject they'd touched on. “We should... make sure it's ready for the next Moon, it's not long.”  
“We'll be ready,” Ron said calmly. “Don't worry. I'll have the Wolfsbane and it won't be like the last two times.”  
“I can't believe you went through it twice without telling anyone.” Harry shook his head. “It must have been agony.”  
“It wasn't great.” Ron made a face to accompany his understatement. “But they're done with now. Hopefully from hereon in it'll get better.”  
“Remind me to go to that butchers. The place that doesn't ask questions when you ask for the bloodiest steaks in the pile.”  
“You don't need to go all the way to the other side of the city for meat, Harry. From what I remember, I wasn't all that interested in eating in the run up.”  
“Because you were scared and alone. It's going to be different this time, Ron.”  
  
Ron looked at him; he was wearing an unconvinced smile – the type which said, “I won't hold my breath.”  
  
***  
A creak on the floorboards woke Harry up. He blinked dumbly in the dark before reaching for his glasses. His watch said it was just gone three in the morning. The bed next to him was empty and the sheets were cold, meaning Ron had been up and wandering the house for quite some time.  
  
As the moon grew closer Ron slipped further into a restless, anxious state. He could barely sit still long enough to eat a meal, let alone make it through a whole night in silence and darkness. He'd taken to prowling the house in the small hours, trying his hardest to be silent so that he wouldn't wake Harry. It was an old house, though, and somehow Harry just _knew_ when Ron wasn't in the bed with him.  
  
Shivering slightly, Harry hurried across his bedroom and out onto the landing. “Ron?”  
  
He called again after a few moments and then heard approaching footsteps. Ron rounded the nearest corner, his hair in disarray and his pyjama top on inside out.  
  
“Come back to bed,” Harry said, holding out his hand. “We can talk. Or sleep. Or whatever.”  
“Lie awake side by side?” Ron asked dryly. “Not talking?”  
“If you want.”  
  
Cold fingers slid into his own and Harry took a step back into the bedroom.  
  
“Or there's something else we could do,” Ron suggested.  
  
He was suddenly a lot nearer than Harry remembered. He swallowed as Ron came right up until their chests were touching.  
  
“I've been thinking about it for so long...” He kissed Harry's forehead. “But I don't want to hurt you.”  
“Why would you?” Harry frowned.  
“I can... I've noticed... um.”  
  
If the candles had been lit, Harry knew he would see Ron blushing.  
  
“I get a bit... forceful. And rough.” Ron chewed on his lip.  
“Well maybe I like forceful and rough,” Harry said, in a tone which he hoped would entice Ron into meeting his challenge.  
“Do you, though? How do you know? This is the first time... for both of us... and...”  
“If you hurt me, I'll tell you to stop.”  
“And what if I c-can't?” Ron looked away.  
“Why wouldn't you be able to?”  
  
Harry looped his arms around Ron's waist and pulled him closer.  
  
“I just... sometimes I get these urges and...” Ron fidgeted. “And I can't do anything to stop them except to do what my body wants and... it can get a bit ugly.”  
  
He didn't say anything, because Ron sounded so upset by what had been happening that he didn't want to make it worse or put words in the redhead's mouth.  
  
“Like yesterday, when I got the shakes? And I told you it was just because I was tired? It's because I was so hard I couldn't concentrate on anything else. I had to come up here and I had three wanks in a row. And I still don't think I was totally finished. I... I did things to myself I've never done before.”  
  
Despite it all, the urge to laugh was rising fast in Harry's throat.  
  
“Why didn't you tell me?”  
“Because I'm pretty fucking mortified over the whole thing, to be honest.”  
“Fair enough.” Harry sighed. He kissed Ron on the lips. “Well, if you're so horny that you're having to come up and wank three times in a row, I think I know something that we can do to alleviate the tension.” He winked, hoping he looked cheeky rather than bigoted.  
  
“And if it's too much?” Ron asked tersely. “If we get halfway through and I can't stop myself and you're... you get hurt? Emotionally, physically, both?”  
“I trust you, Ron.”  
“I wouldn't trust me right now. There's some really mucky stuff going on in my head.”  
“Oh yeah?” Harry grinned. “Want to share some of that with me?”  
  
Ron hesitated, searching his eyes for something Harry didn't know he should be giving. Eventually either lust or impatience won out and he skidded on the floorboards in his socks as Ron pushed him towards the bed. He landed with a bounce, but Ron landed on top of him and knocked the stuffing out of him.  
  
Before he really knew what was happening, Ron had gathered both of his wrists and pinned them above his head. He had straddled Harry's hips with barely any effort – without Harry even noticing how he had done it.  
  
They kissed – or more accurately, they mashed their lips together and Ron completely dominated it. His tongue was in Harry's mouth. His weight pressed him into the bed.  
  
It began to creak beneath them as Ron started rocking against him. He stopped kissing and instead put his mouth to Harry's throat.  
  
Harry wanted to die of shame when he realised he was mewling. Ron was nipping his skin with just enough pressure to be on the wrong side of pleasure.  
  
“I want you,” Ron rasped into Harry's ear. “I want to make you mine.”  
“I am.”  
“No... I want to fuck you, and come in you, and make you scream.”  
  
The grit in Ron's tone took away Harry's ability to speak. All he could do was dumbly nod. Ron wanted to _claim_ him.  
  
Then Ron was tugging his jeans and socks off, tossing them over his shoulder onto the floor. A few moments later saw him similarly naked and he hooked his fingers into the elastic waist of Harry's pants.  
  
He didn't really have the wherewithal to be embarrassed that he was fully naked and aroused in front of Ron for the first time. Very quickly Ron was in exactly the same state of undress and just as hard.  
  
Harry had seen Ron naked plenty of times before – it was the sort of sight which he had grown used to whilst sharing a dormitory and having been on a very boozy holiday together when they were nineteen. Those memories had kept him very warm on cold nights whilst his attraction to Ron had grown. But they were nothing to the reality of copper coloured pubes and a straining hard-on which leant slightly to the left.  
  
He ignored the scarring from the bite in Ron's side.  
  
“Turn over,” Ron instructed. “On your knees.”  
  
Harry complied and was glad he had somewhere to hide his face as Ron pulled his backside up into the air. He yelped in surprise as coolness swept across his skin. He'd spent enough nights on stake out to know Ron was cleaning him. And then -  
  
_”Fuck!”_ He cried out as something entered him. It was just pressure: slow, building pressure sliding into his body, stretching him open. It wasn't particularly pleasant, something which Ron must have known as he put a hand to the base of Harry's spine and began to stroke. Harry could barely hear the whispered words of encouragement through the crashing of his pulse in his ears.  
  
Eventually the pain seemed to soften rather than disappearing completely. He blinked and found tears in his eyes.  
  
“Harry, remember to breathe for god's sake,” Ron said loudly and Harry found it easy to follow his instructions. He sucked in a huge lungful of air and his body relaxed. “God. You're... so... hot.”  
  
It felt like someone had sent electricity through him when Ron's lips kissed very close to his anus.  
  
“You like that?” Ron did it again.  
“I... yeah.” Harry screwed his face up with the inadequacy of his words.  
“What about this?”  
  
Ron licked a brazen stripe right across his hole. Harry jerked forward and nearly, so nearly, lost control then and there.  
  
A chuckle from Ron sent hot, tickling breath over his flesh. Harry shuddered. He expected Ron to taunt him a little more, but he didn't, and instead favoured lapping his tongue back and forth in a slow, repetitive manner. One of his hands – hot now rather than cold – grabbed Harry's balls and cupped them.  
  
Harry let his eyes roll back up into his head and cried out, “Ron!”  
  
Something about hearing his name in Harry's breathless, sex-addled voice spurred Ron on. The licking stopped, his balls were gently released and the bed creaked as Ron knelt on to it.  
  
“I need you,” he said, somewhat desperately. “I need to fuck you, Harry. I'm going to fuck you.”  
“Yeah?” Harry whined in the back of his throat as he felt Ron align their bodies. “How much do you want to fuck me?”  
“More than I want to be alive,” Ron spat back at him. “I need to...”  
“To what?” Harry ground out.  
  
Ron pushed into his body with a sound that was more of a growl than anything else. Harry gasped and rocked forward, but Ron's arms kept him off the bed. They pulled him back, so that Harry was kneeling between Ron's legs, his torso tilted forward slightly so that the angle of their hips did not become impossible to maintain. Ron seized one of his nipples between his forefinger and thumb and pinched it. Harry wondered when he'd slipped beyond discomfit at the noise he was making, because as Ron bit hard into his shoulder, he grew louder.  
  
“Fuck, yes. Fuck me. I want you to fuck me, Ron. Hard. Harder. More – god yes! More!”  
  
He gasped as Ron planted a hand in between his shoulder blades and shoved him face down into the bed. And then there was light dancing behind his closed eyelids as Ron really let go, slamming so hard into his body that the bed lurched and screeched over the floorboards. There was no time to catch his breath – Ron lunged again, ramming so hard into him that Harry thought he would get lodged there. With erratic breath and painfully gripping fingers, Ron eased into a rhythm which left both the bed and Harry screaming – not for mercy on Harry's behalf, but certainly on the bed's.  
  
“Harry... I can't... I need... I _need_...”  
  
He had a pretty clear idea of what Ron needed, and with an aching and strung out body, Harry knew it was exactly what he needed too.  
  
“I know. I know. God. I love you. I love you Ron.”  
  
Long fingers curled around his erection and stroked it from base to tip. Ron took to chanting filth into Harry's neck and, in a move which sent them both flailing over the edge, took Harry's right earlobe between his teeth and bit down.  
  
Harry was no stranger to orgasms. He'd wanked as much as the next man. But there was no comparison to the feeling ripping through his body, brought on by his best friend – his lover. His bones seemed jelly-like and his muscles were useless. His eyes were close to tearing up. He was wailing something into the bedding. Ron was muttering possessive filth into the skin of his neck, shuddering and tensing up as he powerfully emptied himself into Harry's body.  
  
It was the strangest feeling. One of the best he'd ever felt, knowing that it was Ron's semen inside of him. He couldn't wait to feel it sliding out of him, caressing the bound-to-be sore skin of his hole.  
  
Ron grew quiet and still above him, though he couldn't stop his body from trembling. Harry didn't have the energy to move.  
  
“Are you okay?” Ron whispered. “Did I hurt you, Harry?” He pressed a reverent kiss to Harry's shoulder.  
“If that's pain, I'll take it any day,” Harry breathed. “That was...”  
“Yeah.” Ron stroked some of the hair he could reach from Harry's brow.  
“I want to hold you,” he said immediately. “Need to. Got to have you near me. I can't bear it.”  
  
Ron quickly disentangled himself from Harry's body and threw himself down next to him. They immediately crowded together and shared another kiss – but a soft, tender kiss of lovers coming down from the clouds. He used the time to inspect every single freckle on Ron's face. He seemed to be gaining more as he grew older, especially over the bridge of his nose and around his hairline. He gave up counting them when Ron's eyelids drooped to a close. He looked shattered. There were lines on his face Harry had never noticed before. With the blush of sex fading from his cheeks, he looked ill.  
  
_Now you've got to step up, Harry. You've got to look after him._ The voice in his head sounded suspiciously like Hermione.  
  
Nonetheless, Harry listened to it and as gently as he could, he managed to get Ron under the duvet cover. He performed hygiene spells on the both of them and hoped that if he'd left anything disgusting on Ron, it'd be gone before the redhead woke up and had a chance to see it. When he was satisfied that they were both clean enough, he slipped under the duvet and put his hand in Ron's.  
  
Something within him nearly burst as Ron squeezed it and pulled it tightly into his chest.  
  
**Ron**  
  
“There's no need for this, Ron.” Kingsley shook his head sadly. “I'm not sure why you're doing this?”  
“Because I'm never going to feel strong enough. I get tired out by walking from the bottom of Grimmauld to the top.”  
“It's a big house.”  
  
Ron laughed and shook his head. “I know you saw Remus go through this, saw him fight. But whatever inner strength he had, I don't. I'm just so bloody exhausted all the time, Kingsley. I am. And I don't have to work. I don't need the money. So I just need to let it go, and you can give my job to someone else and I can move on with the next chapter in my life.”  
“And Harry features prominently in that chapter? Is he going to come in here tomorrow and hand in his notice, too? And then I'll have lost the best Aurors I've got in two days?”  
“Harry has no idea that I'm here. He doesn't know about my decision. But he'll support me, and I'll support him in keeping his role here.”  
  
Kingsley looked at him for longer than was comfortable, and then shrugged. “I can't refuse your resignation. Plus I won't lie, there are plenty of others who don't want you back because of what happened...”  
“What I am.”  
“And I hope you know that I'm definitely not one of them. I value you now as much as I ever did, maybe even more, because I never had children, Ron. Never had the time or the energy to find a woman who would put up with me being married to my job. But you and Harry... Hermione... you all mean more to me than you should. In a familial, caring way... not a creepy way, you understand?”  
  
Ron laughed and nodded. “I get you.”  
“Remus would have killed for the opportunities you now have at your feet,” Kingsley said soberly. “All his life he had hoped that the times would change, that opinion would lay off him so that he could live.”  
“I know. And I'm not going to waste it. I've got a brother who barely manages to keep a shop afloat by himself and a load of nieces and nephews to bring up. I just want to spend my time doing things I know I can do, rather than constantly waiting to fuck it all up here.”  
  
Seemingly finally realising that he wasn't going to talk Ron round from his decision, Kingsley slumped back in his chair.  
  
“Would you consider acting as a consultant when I need your tactical advice? You've always been the best at that. Nobody can plan a raid like you, Ron.”  
“Maybe.”  
“And what if I ever needed an undercover Werewolf?”  
“I'm not going skulking around the underground like Remus used to do for Dumbledore.”  
“No skulking, I promise.”  
“Well, again. Maybe. Only maybe.”  
“I suppose that'll have to do.”  
  
Ron got to his feet. “Mum sends her love.”  
“Send mine back. And thank her for the fudge, it's my favourite. But then she knows that.”  
“I will.”  
  
He moved to the door.  
  
“Ron, take care. And take care of Harry. God knows you both deserve to be happy. Be happy together?”  
“We will,” Ron promised.  
  
***  
“Harry?” Ron hollered, slamming the front door behind him. “That bastard cat shat on our doorstep again!”  
  
He loathed the cat that lived across the square and treated everywhere as its own personal property.  
  
“In here.” Harry answered from the front parlour which had become their main sitting room. “Just reading some hard-hitting, top notch journalism.” He rolled his eyes and chucked The Daily Prophet on the coffee table. “Apparently, you're threatening to eat Rita Skeeter.”  
  
Ron snorted. “That woman's sense of humour seems to have completely disappeared up her arse these days.” He threw himself down on the sofa.  
“Sure, because most people would react well to being told that you'd serve them with a nice bottle of Shiraz and a side salad.”  
“Oh come on, it was clearly a joke!” Ron cried. “And she deserved it. Evil old hag. Poking around, trying to say I'm mentally unstable after what happened.”  
“Does it hurt so much because she's right?”  
“Ouch.” Ron rubbed his chest. “You're delightful today, aren't you?”  
  
They looked at one another. Ron blew Harry a kiss and gave him a wink. Harry resisted for just a few moments before grinning in response.  
  
“I fancy going out for dinner,” Ron said.  
“Really?” Harry asked in surprise.  
  
Ron had become somewhat reclusive. Harry didn't mind because people just annoyed him with simpering questions or judgement that he had decided to make his life with another man. Ron stayed away because loud noises, crowds and people panicked him.  
  
“Somewhere quiet... romantic maybe. To celebrate.”  
“Celebrate what?” Harry frowned.  
“Me quitting my job at the Ministry and becoming a fully paid up member of chaos in George's shop.”  
“You quit? Today?”  
“I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to waste your breath arguing with me. My mind's been made up for weeks. I just wasn't strong enough to do it yet. And today I was. So let's go out for dinner, and celebrate?”  
  
Ron could see that Harry was hurt that he'd not been informed of his intentions. Ron would have been if their roles were reversed.  
  
“I just didn't want a fuss,” he promised. “I should have told you.”  
  
Harry nodded. “It'll be weird without you there.”  
“You'll be much better at your job without worrying where I am and what I'm doing. Half the force wanted me gone as soon as it happened. Really it's a win win, Harry. I feel amazing.”  
  
“And you'll work in the joke shop?”  
“Well... more... inventing. Creating products. Not the shop stuff unless I really need to because you know how much I hate people.”  
  
“Do you hate all people?” Harry teased.  
“No, just the ones that're cunts.”  
“Oh good. Not me then.”  
“That depends if you're being a cunt or not.”  
  
Harry moved along the sofa until they were sitting side by side.  
  
“I love you.” Ron leant over and kissed Harry's hair.  
“I love you too.”  
  
Harry laced their fingers together. They settled into companionable silence, until the clock gave a chime to signal the hour.  
  
“I bet Rita Skeeter would taste _disgusting_.” Harry mimed throwing up.  
“I don't even want to think about it. Her perfume reeks of toilet cleaner. I told her that, too.” He grinned proudly.  
  
Harry shook his head and rolled his eyes, but he knew it was just Ron's defence mechanism. Rita had deeply hurt him with the words she'd put to print regarding his recent contraction of lycanthropy. But they would keep on keeping on, and maybe, just maybe, they'd be okay. Even with Rita doing her best to discredit Ron, and Harry by association. Godric only knew what she'd do if she ever found out that they were lovers.  
  
_Hopefully combust before she can put quill to parchment and tell the world._  
  
“Like a bit of meat you drop down the side of the oven and find five months later.” Ron nodded sagely. “That's what she'd taste like.”  
“Never change, Ron.”  
“What, being a miserable git?”  
“Being you.”  
  
Ron smiled to himself and looked purposefully away. Harry found himself doing the same.  
  
_-fin-_


End file.
